[... Man. It's a strange feeling, seeing exactly how he feels written by someone else, especially someone he doesn't even know. It makes him stop writing for a moment as a result, and he turns his gaze down to the sheets instead.
A ticking clock. That's exactly how it feels sometimes, especially lately. Knowing that at least a few people can see him like this. He lifts up one hand - completely covered by a glove to hide just how bony it looks, and slowly curls it into a weak fist. Even just doing that, he can feel how thin his fingers are.
He bites his lip and runs a hand through his hair... shuts his eyes and tries to ignore that light little sensation of strands of hair falling against his neck and shoulders, keeps them closed as he pulls his hand away, unwilling to see more strands against his hand. One of the things he's so proud of, too...
And people get to see that. It's not hard to see the frustration, the sadness, in their eyes.
Finally, he opens his eyes and reaches to write again.]
[Written/private]
A ticking clock. That's exactly how it feels sometimes, especially lately. Knowing that at least a few people can see him like this. He lifts up one hand - completely covered by a glove to hide just how bony it looks, and slowly curls it into a weak fist. Even just doing that, he can feel how thin his fingers are.
He bites his lip and runs a hand through his hair... shuts his eyes and tries to ignore that light little sensation of strands of hair falling against his neck and shoulders, keeps them closed as he pulls his hand away, unwilling to see more strands against his hand. One of the things he's so proud of, too...
And people get to see that. It's not hard to see the frustration, the sadness, in their eyes.
Finally, he opens his eyes and reaches to write again.]
Who are you?